And Then There Were Two
by MidnightOfTheSoul
Summary: You try not to think of the warmth seeping through Loker's jacket, or Cal's leg pressed deliberately against your own.


Title: And Then There Were Two

Pairing: C/G, G/L

Disclaimer: LtM not mine

Rating: K+

Summary: You try not to think of the warmth seeping through Loker's jacket, or Cal's leg pressed deliberately against your own.

A/N: No beta, all mistakes are mine. This is for Pineapple, happy birthday, kid. Listen to Volcano by Damien Rice for the full effect. For the rest of you, this is #CFS Monday #awesomefic. I've labored over this for a few days. Still not pleased, but I have to get it out. Thanks for reading!

.::.

He slides her zipper down carefully, like the sound will shake them from this venture into the unknown. His breath is hot on her shoulder and his teeth will inevitably leave a mark upon her skin.

"Why are you doing this?" No emotion. Just curiosity.

"Because I want you." He pushes her hair to the side and kisses beneath her ear. She bites back a groan. He can't win this.

"That's not good enough."

.::.

You're huddled in a corner with Loker, listening to him mock a sharply dressed gentleman who's talking to Torres. His overwhelming jealousy is getting tedious. You want to tell Loker to knock it off, but his snark is the only thing keeping you here. The sound of laughter from across the room draws your attention to the crowd surrounding your client.

Of course, she's drop-dead gorgeous and tall and mysterious. She's sassy and likes dangerous men. She was born for Cal Lightman.

"It's not often that I get to see Lightman so…" Loker observes as he traces your line of sight. Cal is looking at her like she's a lollipop that needs licking.

"Captivated?"

"More like… tongue-tied. I mean, she's beautiful, but she seems like every other woman he's been with. Why's he acting like that?"

You glance at Loker, catching his insinuation that Cal has _been _with the client. To your knowledge he has yet to _mount_ that proverbial horse. You haven't a clue why. If you were him, you'd have gone for it by now.

"He certainly has a type."

"Don't we all?"

.::.

She tries to pull away and gather what's left of her decency. Her attempt is futile, because he has her pressed against the seat in the limo and there is no escaping now.

"Is _anything_ good enough for you?"

Instead of pushing him away, she snakes her hand around his neck and kisses him hard in retribution. His hands tighten around her hips, bunching the silky fabric as he leans against her.

"I was about to ask you the same thing." Her words are harsh, punctuating her response with a nip to his bottom lip.

"What do you mean?"

She's distracted. He's moved to his knees between her legs and is sliding his hand beneath her dress. He likes to attack on all fronts. She doesn't mind. His thumb slips along her inner thigh. She inhales sharply and replies, "Sorry?"

His hum of laughter chases the trail of his fingers along her skin.

.::.

There's dancing, but you've turned down most invitations. Not because you want to dance with _him_, but because you're here for one reason only: to work.

Though, it doesn't help that it's the dead of summer and your libido is kicking into high gear. You want sex. Badly. Too bad you're here. _Working_.

More laughter draws you from your brooding. Torres saunters around the room and appears to be quite comfortable. Still, none of you have spotted the target — a jilted lover of your client. Your client is an important figurehead of the company hosting this event, so jilted or not, he can't be making a scene.

.::.

She finally remember's her point, but not until she's discarded his tie and unbuttoned his shirt.

"I see the way you look at her," she murmurs hoarsely, "if you're trying to —"

"Don't even finish that sentence," he kisses her into silence. Her hands fist his the back of his dress shirt and she pulls her knees up higher around his waist. He groans into her mouth, sliding his tongue against hers.

She doesn't miss how tightly his eyes are shut. Then again, she shuts hers as well. She's not sure if she wants a reason to explain their actions, but feeling hot and bothered typically isn't good enough.

.::.

"Can you do me a solid and dance a round with me?" Loker's glancing warily at a matronly woman who seems to like the tall, nerdy type.

"Only if you ask me properly."

"Gillian," he's looking at you directly now, and there's something there. Something you've never seen before. At least, not when he looks at you. "Would you do me the honor of a dance?"

He's giving you a lopsided smile, almost trademark by now, and you can't help but smile in kind.

"I'd love to." He takes your hand and leads you to the black suit and vibrant dress covered floor. Even though you're wearing heels he's still several inches taller than you. Probably a good thing.

There's a respectable distance between you both and he moves surprisingly well despite all his pretense of being a poor dancer.

"Who made you take lessons?"

"My mother," he replies as he let's go of one hand and spins you, then brings you back in, a little closer this time. "You?"

"I had to take lessons with Alec. All the formal events we attended required some form of skill."

.::.

He still hasn't managed to undo the top part of her dress, and she's not sure if she's glad or not. Anything to prolong the inevitable course of destruction they're on.

"Damn buttons."

"Need some help?"

The last button is free. Her dress slides downwards and his resulting smile is one of victory and lust as he takes in her satin brassiere. She can't help but roll her eyes.

"I think I can handle it from here." He pulls her arms around his shoulders and lifts her ass, turns, and places her onto his lap.

She pushes up on his shoulders and settles around his hips, pushing her breasts tantalizingly close to his mouth. He takes advantage and presses a kiss to the valley between.

"Opportunist."

"Always."

.::.

As Loker leads you around the marble dance floor, you catch sight of Cal, who's dancing with your client. He's just an inch or two shorter than her, then you realize she's wearing flats. She actually did that _for_ him. You look away and try not to shake your head.

"You know what?," Loker spins you out and pulls you back in closer this time. "I think you need to relax a little."

Your quirked eyebrows must cause some alarm because he pulls away slightly, but not until he runs his hand down your very bare and exposed back. Fortunately, it's hot, otherwise, you'd have shivered and you truly can't handle the implications at the moment. Then you notice something.

"Are you blushing, Loker?"

He swallows and grins slightly, looking down and away. You chuckle at him and shake your head.

It isn't until you catch the look on Cal's face that you stop smiling. His eyes are dark as they pointedly trace the outline of your form. His hand is low on your client's back, his other encases hers, held tight against his chest. They're practically breathing each other's air at the moment and if you didn't know any better, you'd say they were in lust.

Except he's looking at you.

.::.

It's hot and her skin is slick with perspiration. His undone belt pokes her in the thigh. No matter. She helps him nudge his pants down, inch by inch. _We shouldn't be doing this_. She recites this repeatedly, but it becomes nonsensical to the point of making her smirk at the jumble of syllables in her head.

"I know that smile."

"Is that so?"

He leans forward and kisses it off her then migrates down her neck, teasing the throbbing pulse in her throat. By some slight of hand, her thong is removed without having to bat and eyelash.

"Impressive."

"Don't underestimate me."

"Never." She rises up and eases down, slowly this time. She pressing into him at such a delicious angle that they both moan in response.

"Again," he rasps against her neck as his hands glide along her back and unclasp her bra.

.::.

It isn't until Cal glides his finger along her spine that you realize what he's doing. You'd be lying if you said it didn't turn you on.

Problem is, you're dancing with Loker, not some faceless man in the crowd. Any reciprocation will have consequences. You pull back slightly and find that Loker is watching Torres. Maybe you both can forget for a few minutes.

Taking a step closer, your hand moves from his shoulder to the back of his neck. You hear him suck in a breath when your nails glide along the nape of his neck.

Cal offers a slight smirk then shifts slightly, his breath blowing softly along her skin. He runs an index finger along the length of her arm, and for some odd reason, chills erupt on your skin.

Cal's eyes burn so hotly into yours that you start to wonder if he even realizes she's there. You feel Loker tighten his hold like you'rre slipping away. No, he's just preparing to spin you again, but this time, when you return, he dips you. Honest to God, dips you. He smiles at the look of shock on your face.

When he draws you back in, your eyes are level with his lips and his gaze is steady on you. The sudden heat you're experiencing is such a confusing mixture that you aren't sure where it ought to be directed.

Some movement at the edge of the dance floor draws your attention. Cal, watching the whole exchange, also turns toward the ruckus. It just so happens to be your target, intoxicated as evidenced by his stumble onto the floor.

.::.

She allows herself only a minute to remain in his embrace, gathering what strength she can. His fingers trace amoebic designs on the small of her back and she shivers at the contact.

Bones like jelly, she slides off his lap as he breathes heavily, trying to catch his breath. The air is thick with impulsiveness and a trace of guilt. It isn't until they round the corner of her street that certain type of urgency forms.

Readying themselves, the limo draws to a slow halt, as though the driver knows they'll need a moment to collect their thoughts.

However there aren't any. Not after what they just did. Not after this whole evening. Not after her slick body slid along his and she had to bite his shoulder to prevent from calling out too loudly.

"Do you want to come in?"

.::.

Loker immediately pulls you away, standing between you and the target. Cal, however, releases your client and approaches the target at an angle. You have no idea what is whispered, but whatever it is, the look of delight on Cal's face is enough to ensure victory.

In a flurry of action, the target is gathered by men in dark suits and Cal swaggers off behind them. Your client and Torres approach you and Loker. Breaking away, you turn to follow Cal when you realize that he'll be finished with the interview by the time you all arrive.

"I imagine Cal can find a ride home, himself," your client states with surprising familiarity. "My limo can take you all home, if you'd like."

You start to shake your head but reflect on how Cal's been so hot-and-cold lately. It serves him right.

"That would be lovely," you reply, glancing at both Torres and Loker, who shrug in agreement.

Slowly taking your leave, you all file out of the ballroom and towards the long line of sleek, black vehicles. You feel a pang of guilt at leaving Cal. The driver holds the door open and your client slides in, followed by Torres, then Loker. Just as you settle into the center seat beside Loker, an unmistakeable voice calls out to hold the door.

.::.

He blows out a quick puff of air and his hesitation is all she needs. The driver opens the door and she slides out, somewhat shameful due to the undeniable smell of sex that departs with her. She fishes out a ten for the driver, slides it in his pocket, knowing he probably got quite the show.

As she turns away from the limo, a hand catches her wrist. By the warmth, she knows it's not the driver. She turns only to find soft lips placed against her own. It is unlike any of their other kisses. Pulling away, he rubs his hand down her shoulder, along the length of her arm and brushes another kiss against her knuckles.

"Have a good night," he whispers, then climbs inside the limo. Shrugging, she backs away and approaches her front door, ignoring the way her hands are shaking as she fumbles for her keys. It's not until she's safely inside that the limo departs.

It isn't until she searches for her cell phone in her handbag twenty minutes later that she finds it. His tie. Something to remember the evening by. But as she looks at herself in the mirror, she finds a bite mark just below her shoulder that will undoubtedly leave a lasting impression.

.::.

In comes Cal, looking properly joyous and a little flushed. He sits on the other side of you, making a particularly awkward sandwich. Conversation is scarce and the silence pensive.

You try not to think of the warmth seeping through Loker's jacket, or Cal's leg pressed deliberately against your own. You also try to ignore the way his pinky finger glides along the hem of your dress next to his leg. It doesn't work.

The limousine continues into the sweltering night. One-by-one, the limo empties of it's inhabitants, until only two remain.

.::.::.

A/N: So… yeah. In case you're wondering, it's vague for a reason. I want you to read whoever you want it to be in that limo. Pineapple ships both C/G and G/L, hence the ambiguity. Let me know what you think (:


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